The Apple Never Falls Far From The Tree
by SunsetsAndCarCrashes-x
Summary: The Apple Never Falls Far From The Tree: A statement made to infer that one is invariably similar to their parents. Often used negatively or ironically. A Story Of Irony, Angst And Love. How James Found And Won His Missing Peice And Sirius Lost His.


**Chapter One**

**Aunt Sophie**

**Old People** (noun)  
1) Insecure and tight-fisted, have an aversion to change, are ignorant of anything new and are stubborn.  
2) Commonly seen reading dodgy magazines.  
3) Example of usage: _Old people are selfish and should be condemned and left to die._

Groaning, I resisted from banging my head against the wall. She was doing it. _Again_. When I say she, I mean Aunt Sophie. When I say Aunt Sophie, I _really _mean old-cow. Aunt Sophie is ancient, and when I say ancient, I mean so-bloody-old-I'm-surprised-she-isn't-dead-yet. Pushing eighty-five, bless her. Sarcasm indeed intended.

Aunt Sophie isn't really my aunt. She's my grandmother's aunt. Aunt Sophie looks like a sweet, regular old lady. She's freakishly little; white, fluffy hair and a wrinkled face. She has a soft voice, which I like to call patronizing-and-simpering. When I point this out loudly, she replies smoothly that I'm a bratty, cynical child. Then she asks, "Honey, do you need me to wipe your mouth? You've made a mess again, poor dear. Those little biscuits do nothing for your hyperactivity." _Excuse me!? _I'm almost seventeen, and I _do not _need anyone to wipe my mouth. I am not dense, and I am certainly not hyper.

In case you haven't noticed yet, Aunt Sophie is, in fact, a witch. _Surprisingly. _My mother's family are all muggles, non magic, boring… whatever floats your boat. On the other hand, my dad's family were magical, special… weird… my great-great-grandmother, Aunt Sophie's mother, was a witch. So was her family. She had two daughters; one a witch and the other a Squib. The Squib was my grandmother's mother, and my grandmother was purely muggle. Aunt Sophie, the witch, had one son (who had a daughter), and my grandmother only had a son; my father. Somehow, I ended up a witch. Not a muggle-born; turns out my father's a wizard, he just didn't actually know it. Doesn't, actually. Confused yet?

Aunt Sophie's grand-daughter had one son; his name is Charlie. His mother died when he was six, and he was brought up by his father's family. Charlie, who would be my cousin, is a wizard and in my year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry.

The last week of the summer I spend at Aunt Sophie's. She told my parents, to give me "higher education", that she was paying for me to go to a boarding school and she'd take me each year. I spend the week doing last minute homework, as I obviously don't have time the other five weeks or so. My mother would, quite simply, freak, if she found out what Aunt Sophie did.

"Apple?" Aunt Sophie called in her little-old-lady voice from the kitchen. Oh dear Merlin, I hate it when she does that! I stood up and angrily strode into the kitchen, fuming because of two reasons: One- she is perfectly capable of doing whatever she needs done all by herself. Two- she _knows _I hate being called Apple, I am not a bloody fruit, so why continue to call me it, seriously?!

"Yeah?" I looked at her sullenly, leaning against the kitchen cabinet. Aunt Sophie was sat at the kitchen table, reading the magazine _Witches' Choice. _The page she was reading flashed gold and silver, in big, elaborate font: _You can still have fun when you're in your prime; Turn the page to find new ways to find pleasure and feel as sexy as a fifty year old._

I shuddered, and suppressed a retch; not something I'd like to find out, thank you very much dear friend.

"Excuse me?" Aunt Sophie said, not even bothering to raise her eyes from the page. I rolled my own and said resentfully in monotone, "Yes, Aunt Sophie?"

"Good girl, Apple, honey!" Aunt Sophie smiled at me, walked unsteadily towards me and patted me on my head. I glared and said nothing; it would only lead to more patronizing statements. She'd probably make me eat with a bib on… _again_.

"You've received your Hogwarts' booklist, I'm presuming?" Aunt Sophie asked, waving her wand so two mugs appeared out of nowhere and began to pour tea from the teapot on the table into themselves.

I nodded, not bothering to say anything. She _knew _I had my booklist; she was the one who bloody gave the damn thing to me. Aunt Sophie looked at me, raising an eyebrow. I rolled my blue eyes and said, with a frown, "Yes I have."

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

_No! You know I'm not, Old bat! _"No, I'm not."

"Would you like to take a trip to Diagon alley, Apple? I hear they have some great sales on, and we can collect your books can't we dear?" even thought they were rhetorical questions to everyone else, I knew I had to answer them.

"Yes please," I said, sullen as ever.

Aunt Sophie smiled, patted me, and returned to her seat. She waved her wand so the smallest of the two cups began to poke me with it's handle. I rolled my eyes yet again and grasped the handle tightly, causing the cup to squeak and say in a pompous tone, "That hurts, if you don't mind!"

Muttering my apologies (I didn't fancy being attacked by the teapot tonight), I sipped the tea attentively (this particular teacup didn't like me and my manners; it had a frequent habit of heating up suddenly) and took a seat opposite Aunt Sophie.

"It's your birthday the day after tomorrow."

_Yeah, funnily enough I am aware, thanks. _"Uh-huh," Aunt Sophie looked at me, and I rolled my eyes again, "Yes, my birthday is tomorrow. Thank you for remembering, Aunt Sophie. I am very grateful."

Aunt Sophie chuckled slightly, "We'll look for a birthday present for you tomorrow too, if you're a good girl."

I laughed, despite the patronizing tone she was using. "Thanks," I smiled at her warmly for a second, before putting my 'good little girl' voice on, "_Aunt Sophie?" _I said, dragging the 'oh' sound and the 'e' sound.

She raised her eyebrows again, "What do you want?"

"Could I meet some friends in Diagon Alley tomorrow?" I said, beaming at her and doing my best puppy-dog eyes impression, "They could stay for lunch?"

"How many people are you talking about here?" Aunt Sophie said, abandoning her patronizing tone.

"Uhmm… about… svuhgee…" I mumbled, coughing slightly.

"Pardon?"

"Six."

"_Six!?_"

I nodded, with a lopsided grin, "Not including me and it's not like they are staying over…"

Aunt Sophie rolled her eyes, and said slowly, "They are all boys, aren't they?"

"No!" I said, indignantly, "One is a girl, _actually_."

"Oh great," Aunt Sophie said sarcastically, "She's one of _those _girls."

"Those girls?" I asked, nonplussed.

"You know," Aunt Sophie said, inspecting her teacup, "That are more like boys than girls."

I choked on my tea, "Why do you say that?"

"I'm assuming, as there will be seven of you, including yourself, that you are inviting the entire Quiddich team to lunch?"

"Yep," I said simply, waiting for Aunt Sophie to get to the point. She looked at me, determined eyes on my own, and waited. I groaned and said, "Yes, Aunt Sophie, I am inviting the entire Quiddich team for lunch."

"Well done, dear. I don't see why you aren't used to the full answers yet, you've stayed with me every single summer for seven years," Aunt Sophie murmured, flicking through the magazine again. Before I could resort, she added, "Girls who play sport are usually more like boys in general. They look like them, dress like them, sound like them and smell like them."

"You realise that's a stupid stereotype?"

"Why do you say that, Apple?"

I roll my eyes, "Because, Aunt Sophie dear, I am on the Quiddich team; I look and sound and dress and smell like a girl. Why, I hear you ask? Because I _am_ a girl. Almost every other girl on a Quiddich team is exactly the same." _Actually, the girl we were talking about, Mei, was what Aunt Sophie was describing but Aunt Sophie didn't need to know that._

"I'm sure, honey. Now, go away so I can read some useful tips they have here," Aunt Sophie said, shooing me away. As I walked out of the kitchen, I glanced back at her; she was reading the 'Have Fun In Your Prime' Article. Oh dear Merlin, that is repulsing. I suppressed a shudder and went to my room.

My room was on the third floor. Aunt Sophie's house had five floors; magically made that way, of course. From the outside, it just looked like a very small, one floor cottage with a lonely, sweet, and old lady living in it. This is how I learned the phrase '_never judge a book by it's cover'. _Stereotypes and outside appearances can be very deceiving. We hardly needed all of the floors, though, so the rooms and floors moved around depending on the people in the house and what they needed.

So, I climbed the stairs and was suddenly outside my room; a regular occurrence. I opened the mahogany door and stepped into my "sty", as Aunt Sophie affectionately put it.

I picked up a couple dozen letters and a photo-album, that were under a sock and next to my _Hogwarts: A History First Edition _(which I'm still getting around to reading) respectively, from the floor. I perched at the end of my bed, placed the photo-album next to me, and began to flick through the brightly-coloured envelopes. I smiled at my friends' handwriting; ranging from a neat script to a barely-reconisable-as-letters-and-not-weird-symbols-let-alone-proper-english scrawl. I touched the words warmly and smiled again to myself; my friends meant the entire world to me.

At that moment, my tawny-owl, Gertrude, swooped through the small window behind my bed and dropped a letter on my lap. I patted her tenderly and dug into my pocket of my ripped, faded jeans. I found what I was looking for; an owl drop. I held it out for her, and she nipped my hand angrily.

"Fussy! It's only got a little bit of fluff on it!" I said to her, laughing, "And you eat mice for Merlin's sake."

Gertrude looked at me reproachfully, and promptly flew back out of the window. I chuckled to myself and looked at the letter. It wasn't a handwriting I recognised. I opened the letter and began to read thoughtfully:

_Avalon,_

_Long time, no speak eh! How are you? I need to talk to you… it's a bit urgent, can't really put it in the letter; interception and stuff. Meet me in compartment 2D at 11.00 on the Hogwarts Express yeah? Make sure you're alone, and don't be late._

_See you then,_

_Charlie._

I raised my eyebrows, and re-read the letter. Charlie? Wow, I hadn't spoken to him in about two, three years. I tied up my dark blonde hair and touched the print wistfully. I wonder what he wants.


End file.
